


Hooked On You

by zombiekittiez



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: CEO Shiro, Class Dynamics, Fisherman Keith, Getting Together, Hallmark Movie, Happy Ending, Kinda, Love at First Sight, M/M, Message in a bottle, Misunderstandings, Modern AU, Sheithmark 2021, Strangers to Lovers, a whole subplot about the medical industry idk, meet cute kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29066250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiekittiez/pseuds/zombiekittiez
Summary: “I know you, Takashi Shirogane,” Allura says, pointing her fork at him though she’s certainly well bred enough to know better. “You are not the same as these superficial social climbers in our circle.”“I’m honored,” Shiro says dryly.“What you need,” Allura explains, “is someone really honest. Someone who can see all your good points for what they are, and someone really secure with who he is. I really think you’d be a completely different person with that kind of support. Ahappierperson.”~~When CEO Shiro decides to quite literally bottle up his feelings, he never imagined that rugged Fisherman Keith would find them and turn his world upside down...
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 110
Kudos: 141
Collections: Sheithmark 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to check out [@kei_taiga's](https://twitter.com/kei_taiga) amazing [art](https://twitter.com/kei_taiga/status/1355382663448678401/photo/1) for this fic!!!

“Happy New Year, Takashi,” Adam had said three hours ago, pulling the engagement ring off his finger and plunking it into Shiro’s champagne flute before storming out of the party. Which was also coincidentally when Shiro had abandoned using glasses altogether. Miserable things, really. Much more efficient to just drink by the bottle.

Two bottles of Dom Perignon later, Shiro is willing to admit that perhaps the last minute Christmas engagement wasn’t quite the relationship panacea he’d aimed for. It had been easy to forget among the staged photos and silly sweater vests that Adam was unhappy with Shiro and that Shiro was unhappy with Adam’s unhappiness. And, well, it had been romantic. Mistletoe and snow and everything. A nice distraction from Atlas Inc and the looming Arus project.

Regardless... the point is that he’d tried and tried and tried again. No more. While his friends and employees are drunkenly canoodling the night away, Shiro is in his executive office, looking over the glittering lights of the city harbor.

Alone.

And he’s tired.

Well, it’s New Year’s Eve, isn’t it? Time to turn over a new leaf.

Shiro carelessly knocks over his pen holder when he turns away from the window, two or three falling to the floor and splattering expensive ink over his expensive carpet. No matter, he’ll have it redone later. He’d always disliked that practical staid dark ocean blue.

...ocean.

His eyes are drawn back to the harbor and the glittery lights playing over the sea. There’s supposed to be fireworks, later.

Now there’s an idea. Dramatic, perhaps, and frivolous and silly. Wasn’t that Adam’s problem? That Shiro was… impractical. He’d show Adam a thing or two when Arus got off the ground, with or without the Weatherington Group’s support.

Shiro glances at the clock. He can make it… if he hurries. He sits at his desk and starts writing.

Some time later, Shiro finds himself stumbling out of his private elevator and into the frigid night air. In his left hand he holds a few crumpled sheets of stationary, in his prosthetic right, a mostly empty bottle of champagne. He walks unsteadily along the harbor until he reaches the long pier jutting out into the night. Shiro follows it along until he reaches the end, surrounded by quiet and cold. Distantly he can hear the countdown shouted across the city streets. The crowds are higher up, further from the freezing water waiting for the show.

10… 9… 8….

Shiro swigs down the last of the bottle.

7... 6…. 5…..

He carefully twists the papers thin and wedges them into the neck.

4…. 3… 2….

Shiro seals the bottle up with a hunk of wax he’d taken from his desk, leftover from the darling wax sealed engagement announcements he’d sent out a scant week earlier. He works it into the neck of the bottle and uses his lighter to seal the edges.

The cheers ring out. Shiro pulls his arm back and hurls the bottle into the darkness.

“Happy New Year,” Shiro whispers.

“Shiro!” A voice calls from the dock. Allura, wrapped in a lovely long white fur, glares at him. “What on earth are you doing out here? Where is your coat?! You’ll catch your death.”

“Happy New Year,” Shiro repeats, swaying a little.

“You’re drunk,” Allura sighs. “Let’s get you back up to your office and you can sleep it off on the couch.”

~~

In the morning Shiro is able to write off his dramatic drunken gesture without a second thought. Perhaps it even helped a little- he’s certainly too hungover to worry over letters and oceans and resolutions anyway, when Garrison Garrulity has a meeting scheduled in the afternoon. Sanda might be a battleaxe, but if she’s willing to step up after the Weatherington withdrawal…

Allura refuses to take no for an answer, sweeping him off to brunch beforehand and he is suitably chastened about sulking alone when Adam wasn’t a quarter of what Shiro really deserved anyway, so it’s all to the good.

“And what is it that I deserve?” Shiro asks, amused.

“I know you, Takashi Shirogane,” Allura says, pointing her fork at him though she’s certainly well bred enough to know better. “You are not the same as these superficial social climbers in our circle.”

“I’m honored,” Shiro says dryly.

“What you need,” Allura explains, “is someone really honest. Someone who can see all your good points for what they are, and someone really secure with who he is. I really think you’d be a completely different person with that kind of support. A _happier_ person.”

“And what about you?” Shiro counters, changing the subject.

“What about me?” Allura almost pouts.

“Well.” Shiro lifts an eyebrow. “ _Lotor._ ”

“Oh, him.” Allura’s posture is much too good to slump in her seat, but a little oomph goes out of her all the same.

“Oh, him.” Shiro mimics. “Aren’t you two engaged?”

“Engaged to be engaged. Discussing the process of becoming possibly engaged.” Allura equivocates.

“Do you want to marry him?” Shiro asks gently.

“I like him,” Allura says, averting her gaze. “He makes sense in my life. I suppose I just feel like… Oh, I don’t know. Like marrying Lotor is the end of things, as it were. Then we’re a happy little socialite couple just as expected. I won’t be _Allura_ anymore, I’ll be Lotor’s wife, someone’s plus one for always, relegated to little charity projects and the like. I just think… well. There goes my life.”

Shiro makes a thoughtful little noise as the waitress brings another pair of mimosas. “I always thought marriage would be the beginning of the adventure. Two people on a journey where anything is possible because you’ll have each other always, wherever life takes you.” He glances up to see Allura watching him over the top of her crystal cut glass.

“...what?”

“And you say you aren’t romantic.” Allura gives a very undignified snort and downs her mimosa in one shot.

“It doesn’t matter,” Shiro says importantly. “I’m swearing off romance anyway.”

“We’ll see what you have to say in a couple of months,” Allura snarks, waving her hand carelessly for another round.

~~

Shiro doesn’t really… miss Adam.

It’s callous as hell, but there it is. The tension must have been running high for a lot longer than he’d realized- that, and the sheer flurry of activity is enough to devour every waking moment (and several unconscious ones; after that dream where Iverson was going over budget projections dressed only in heart printed boxers Shiro hadn’t been able to look the man in the eye for a week).

Biomedical automated mechanical prosthesis is the stuff of sci-fi, and even with his ten years as guinea pig to the geniuses at Holt Robotics, investors are cagey about the market aftereffects of going fully public. Nevermind that staying private is sure to mean only the elites will have access to life altering tech.

Still, it’s early in the process. The press conference won’t be until after third quarter, nearly a year from now. Shiro can buy many things as the Shirogane heir, but it’s rare that he can afford optimism.

Shiro starts his morning with a dawn run, weather turning from the crisp nip of winter into something a little warmer as the sun drapes lovingly over the cityscape. There are many things that Shiro dislikes about the city- but this isn’t one of them. The store fronts and shop displays are all alive with pinks and reds and whites, riotous hearts and sentimental sayings heraldings Valentine’s Day, scarcely twenty four hours away. At home, Shiro cracks open the first of his chef catered meal plan breakfasts an acai bowl with imported figs and calendula honey (Treat yourself, Allura had advised, and she was right- it was worth every penny).

After a steaming rainfall shower, Shiro finds that Griffin had managed to get his favorite linen suit to the cleaners for freshening up. It’s a small miracle, really- Griffin is loyal to a fault and a stickler for procedure but has less than stellar attention for small details or the human element.

Best of all, when Shiro checks his calendar via cellphone in the elevator, he finds that all his meetings have been moved to the afternoon. He feels perfectly justified in taking a detour on his way into the office and so Shiro ends up sitting down cheerfully at the computer with the first iced coffee of the season to check his emails, ready for his streak of luck to hold for once. An update from Matt- he’s a little behind on the worklogs, but his work is always top notch and the delay is only to be expected, under the circumstances…

A few inquiries for later in the week that he forwards to Griffin automatically for follow up. One he doesn’t recognize- but that’s inevitable, in his line of work. It’s a freebie account, but the subject lines does say _replying to your message_ so it may be something important sent accidentally from a personal account. So many of his work contacts have multiple accounts- Shiro has four himself. He sends Griffin a follow up to disregard the last message and clicks it open himself.

_Hi_

_You don’t know me, but I know you. My name is Keith Kogane and I’m a fisherman off Charity Island. I know this is going to sound weird, but I needed to reach out. Six weeks ago I found your message in a bottle tangled up in my fishing net. Tore a pretty good sized hole, too. Anyway, I read it and then I read it a couple more times. It’s the kind of thing I couldn’t just read the one time and throw away, you know what I mean? You probably don’t care all that much about what a stranger like me thinks, but maybe I don’t have to be a stranger. I’m just going to cut right to it- I want to meet you. I think it could be worth your while._

Shiro drops his iced white mocha all over his linen slacks.

An hour later and two SOS texts- one to get Griffin to swing by his place for a change of clothes, one to Allura for emotional support, and Shiro paces the floor freshly dressed in his itchiest wool suit. It’s Merino from Seville Row, so he really only uses it for his most impressive old money clients. It’s fine- Griffin couldn’t be expected to know and anyway it’s penance. Shiro deserves to be itchy and miserable.

“What’s the emergency?” Allura asks, flinging both doors to his office open as she sashays in. “Griffin looks like he’s about to start crying.”

“What? Why?” Shiro pauses, distracted.

“He said you cancelled all your meetings for the day. He said you told him you might end up cancelling the week.” Allura raises an eyebrow. “He probably thinks you’ve got a terminal illness… or the company’s about to go under.”

Shiro doesn’t laugh.

“Is the company going to go under?” Allura asks, closing the doors behind her.

“It’s fine… for now.” Shiro says cautiously.

“Start from the beginning,” Allura requests, settling into Shiro’s chair.

“You remember New Years?” Shiro asks.

“Certainly. I was not anywhere near as drunk as you were. Lotor was intent on annoying me stone sober,” Allura scowls at the memory. “I found you wandering the docks, I believe.”

“Right.” Shiro nods. “Well like you said, I was drunk. Adam had just called things off… quite publicly. And cancelled the Weatherington support for Arus. So… I decided to make a life change.”

“New Year new me,” Allura quips, amused.

“Right. So I wrote down everything that was going through my head right then and there. And I wanted the big dramatic gesture, right? So…” Shiro gestures out the window.

“So you threw it into the ocean.” Allura rolls her eyes with a fond smile.

“Right. Message in a bottle.” Shiro agrees. He steps around her, rolling the chair over to his desk where the email is pulled up. “Then today I get this.”

Allura is silent while she reads it over. “What do you think it means?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Idiot that I am, I used my official stationary and it’s in my handwriting. I was so drunk- I barely even remember writing it, much less what I wrote. It must be devastating. Listen to what this Kogane is saying- _Six weeks ago I found your message in a bottle tangled up in my fishing net._ He’s been sitting on this information for six weeks weighing his options. _Tore a pretty good sized hole,_ a roundabout way of telling me that I owe him financially.”

“Shiro, isn’t that a bit of stretch?” Allura asks, but her expression is uneasy.

“ _It’s the kind of thing I couldn’t just read the one time and throw away, you know what I mean?_ He’s deliberately telling me that he won’t destroy the evidence. _You probably don’t care all that much about what a stranger like me thinks, but maybe I don’t have to be a stranger._ This information isn’t anything to him personally, but one Google search turns up Atlas Incorporated and it would be a PR nightmare for anyone in our circle and he knows it. _I’m just going to cut right to it- I want to meet you. I think it could be worth your while-_ ”

“Blackmail,” Allura’s eyes are fiery. “We could go to the police.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “This is America, Allura. They’re hardly equipped for the repercussions of blackmailing a Fortune 500 CEO. If they start sniffing around he’s even more likely to go public.”

“Do you really think what you wrote was that inflammatory?” Allura asks.

“I don’t know,” Shiro confesses, running his hands carelessly through his white streaked hair, leaving it mussed. “I was so drunk- at the very least I probably wrote a great deal about Adam. If that were to be published, the backlash might be enough to tank the new investment group interest. You know what a conservative organization Garrison is.”

“Alright, so what’s the plan?” Allura sighs.

“Plan?” Shiro echoes.

“Yes. You’ve had…” Allura checks her watch. “An hour? Hour and twenty to panic. You must have some strategy by now. You’re too productive to waste more than half that in hapless agitation.”

“I…” Shiro takes a deep breath then sinks into the couch across the room. “I’m going to have to go to Charity Island with a suitcase full of cash.” He sounds miserable.

“Dramatic,” Allura chides gently. “I’m sure a checkbook will do. When do we leave?”

“We?” Shiro sits up, surprised.

“You didn’t think I was going to send you off to negotiations alone, did you?” Allura asks, attention already redirected to her phone where she rattles off several succinct messages to interested parties, delicate fingers flying. “You’re far too soft, Shiro.”

“I can’t ask you to drop everything and-”

“Shiro, you’re not asking. I’m telling you.” Allura explains patiently. “You’d be helpless without me. Now, while Griffin packs you a bag and Romelle gets a few things of mine together and charters our passage, you and I are going to discuss strategy.”

“Strategy?” Shiro echoes hopefully. Then, recovering his senses, he shakes his head. “You can’t, Allura. You’re supposed to be hosting that art house auction with Lotor tomorrow, remember? It was in the paper. Please don’t get me barred from your wedding, he hardly likes me as it is.”

“Nobody reads the paper anymore, Shiro,” Allura scoffs. “And he’ll just have to get over it. And he likes you, so much as he can like anyone. I mean it isn’t as though he were _jealous,_ hard to be when you’re so…” She gestures at him.

“Messed up?” Shiro guesses.

“Homosexual,” Allura corrects with a glare. “Lotor just likes to know where I am and what I’m doing. At all times. I suppose he thinks we’re a bit irresponsible together.”

“Can’t imagine where he’d get that idea,” Shiro says dryly.

“Ah,” Allura says, not paying him a whit of attention. “Romelle’s got us on the three thirty flight, and Coran’s pulling the car around. Shall we?”

~~

The difference between Shiro and Allura is never more obvious than when Griffin and Romelle meet their respective bosses outside the airport. Romelle looks like she just stepped away from her desk for a tea break, her jewel color block dress perfectly coordinated with her shoes and bag, not a hair out of place. She has Allura’s three piece luggage neatly together for TSA precheck and holds what must be their itinerary and tickets in a neat sheaf of papers along with a manilla folder. Griffin, on the other hand, is a sweaty mess- his tie is askew and Shiro cringes to think what awaits him inside the rolling suitcase at his feet. The sleeve of what he sincerely hopes is not his Ferragamo is half caught in the zipper.

Romelle catches them up as she walks them to the security check point. “Your travel itinerary- the first leg will carry over to the stopover point where a privately chartered plane is already waiting. There will be a bit of a ferry ride across from there to Charity Island proper as that particular island is too small to have its own landing strip. We’ve arranged the ferry to hold for your arrival, so that won’t be an issue. There’s a rather nice bed and breakfast on Charity that should serve. I’ve tried to call ahead but it didn't connect, unfortunately- I hear that does happen occasionally due to weather on the island, so I shouldn’t worry. It has excellent Yelp reviews.”

Griffin stares at her open-mouthed. Romelle does not turn her head to look his way but her expression is a touch smug.

“I’ve, er, emailed to push back your meetings,” Griffin says hurriedly. “Some of them were pretty… unhappy about it.”

“Thanks,” Shiro takes his luggage from Griffin. “If there’s an issue you can always put them through to my cell.”

“No, he cannot.” Allura interrupts, taking hers from Romelle. “Griffin, do you hear? This is a very important trip. It’s your job to run interference until Shiro and I return. No interruptions! Besides, if what Romelle says is correct they won’t be able to connect regardless.”

“O-oh.” Griffin looks even sweatier when Allura addresses him. “But what if-”

“Allura, _I’ve_ already cleared your calendar and redirected your calls to my work cell,” Romelle says smoothly. “For everyone.”

“Excellent, as always.” Allura grins. “Whatever should I do without you, Romelle?”

Romelle flushes with pleasure. Griffin looks slightly more miserable.

“Uh… right.” Shiro winces. “Do your best. We’d better get going.”

Traveling, even on short notice, is such a part of Shiro’s normal business dealings that he’s able to go through the motions largely on autopilot- handy, as part of him can’t help worrying at the issue like a dog with a bone. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t pay much attention to what Allura does on the first flight- it isn’t until they settle onto the much smaller private plane that he notices her going through the manilla envelope, spreading what looks like information sheets, pictures and diagrams out on her foldable tray as she sips at Perrier with a slice of lemon.

“What’s that?” Shiro asks suddenly, grateful for a distraction. “Wedding planning?”

“Oh no,” Allura says calmly. “Intel, darling.”

“Intel,” Shiro repeats agreeably, looking back out the window. Then he turns back, dread settling in along his spine. “Intel?”

“Keith Kogane,” Allura says, turning a photo around so that Shiro can see. “Twenty five years old. Born on Charity Island- his mother’s family has a long history there… part of the original indigenous people, I believe. He did leave for a few years to attend art school on the mainland but returned without finishing his degree. Some trouble there, I think.”

“Oh my god! Allura, you can’t just…” Shiro protests, shocked, but trails off when he sees the picture.

“Nothing a cursory Google search couldn’t turn up,” Allura assures him. “Or so Romelle tells me.”

“What the hell do you even pay her,” Shiro wonders, but he’s still focused on the photo in his hand. It’s old- the boy in the picture can’t be more than eighteen. A scholarship announcement in the local paper, picture quality a bit pixelated but the boy’s expression burns dangerously nonetheless. Heavy brows and dark eyes, long shaggy hair… he looks like a YA novel’s version of a tortured JD in his white t-shirt and a leather jacket two sizes too big. Pretty and sharp. Somehow not the face Shiro had expected to see.

“More than you can afford,” Allura says offhand. “His father died when he was a kid. There was some legal trouble in his teens, but all that’s sealed. It would take more than a couple of hours to dig into that.”

“Allura, please.” Shiro puts the photo down and slides it back toward her. “Don’t tell me any more, okay.”

“It’s important to know what you’re getting into,” Allura says sternly. “He knows a lot of vulnerable information about you, Shiro. It’s not like you’re going to hold it against him- you should just know what kind of person you’re dealing with.”

“Can you really figure out what kind of person he is from that?” Shiro asks, flicking the folder with disgust.

“To an extent,” Allura explains. “I know you don’t like to deal with these kinds of situations. It’s very admirable, rising above all the petty corporate espionage.”

“That’s different anyway,” Shiro says and tries not to pout. Allura waits him out.

“... fine. What kind of person do you think he is?” Shiro asks grudgingly.

“The community is small,” Allura says, spreading out a map to the island. “Less than five hundred people live there year round, though more people come in the summer months for the tourist season- mostly for specialty fishing, the island’s biggest industry. The numbers have not been nearly so good the last few years, too much competition on the mainland. He’s been buried on the island since he quit school- no social media, no business ventures to speak of. If I had to guess he’s a local boy trying to keep the family going during hard times. It may be that he wants a community investment and just isn’t delicate about approaching what he sees as his only opportunity.”

“That’s certainly preferable to someone trying to make a quick dollar for themselves,” Shiro agrees. “Easier to justify the expense that way too.”

“Bleeding heart that you are,” Allura says kindly, tidying away the information in her folder. She pauses over the same photo that Shiro had. “He’s quite a looker, isn’t he? He’s probably grown up quite pretty. Shame he’s a scoundrel.”

Shiro rolls his eyes and pretends to nap until the plane lands.


	2. Chapter 2

Keith’s just dropped the last of the day’s haul into the back of the truck when Hunk squints across the setting sun on the water. 

“Awful late for the ferry to be running, isn’t?” 

“Huh.” Keith checks his watch. It’s a clunky, ugly thing- but from his father and waterproof besides, so worth its weight in gold. “Yeah. Wonder what Kolivan’s thinking, sending Ulaz out so late.” 

Pidge shrugs, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Some richy-rich from the mainland chartered it special I heard. Let’s get a move on, okay?” 

“Hey,” Keith leans in the open window and Pidge taps her fingers against the steering wheel- a nervous gesture. She must really be itching to jet. “If Kolivan finds out you’re jacking the scanner to listen in to dispatch he’s gonna freak.” 

“So who’s gonna tell him?” She snarks. Punk. He kind of likes that, though. She’s not really a local, just a temp worker from the summer that somehow never moved on last season, but he likes her. Everybody does. He rolls his eyes instead of answering, leaning back out of the way while she drives off toward the cold storage to keep till the morning’s pick up. Keith heads straight back onboard to tidy up, clearing out the cabin below while Lance rinses the leftover scales, blood and guts off the deck with the hose. The two of them will have to wait to clean themselves till they get home- fortunately it’s not much of a walk. 

While Keith empties the trash into the oversized bag he’ll carry to the dockside dumpster, he finds his thoughts drifting. He’s been out of it all day, something Lance hadn’t been slow to point out a few dozen times. An hour. It’s the only time he’s ever been sorry not to have a cellphone- no point when the island’s got less than stellar reception. Not worth the cash. Still it’s a nice thought- to be able to pull up his email and see… 

No guarantees. Keith knows that. A guy can hope, though. 

There’s a familiar sort of bustle- the ferry anchoring down on the other side of the dock and the passengers and crew disembarking. 

“Hey, watch out!” Lance yells. The hose thuds down on deck and quick steps dash across. Keith shakes his head, wiping down the sink and counters. He makes sure to clear out the fridge, too. Storm’s coming up- not projected to hit the island head on, but the waves will be too choppy to go out in their small boats for a day or so. Keith will take the unexpected vacation. Probably spend too much time on the computer hitting refresh on his email, he thinks wryly. 

“Disgusting!” a posh female voice rings through the air. “Ugh, what is wrong with you? Is this… blood? My dress is covered in _blood!_ ” 

“Sorry,” Lance replies, testy. “I just got off thirteen hours on the reef, okay? I didn’t want you to fall, the dock is slippery-” 

Damn. Lance is good people, even if he annoys the piss out of Keith sometimes. He must have run in with the richy-riches coming in off the ferry. God knows what they’re doing out here off season, but if there’s one thing they can’t afford it’s more trouble. Keith ties off the trashbag and starts trudging up the stairs to the rescue. 

“No. I… I’m sorry,” the woman says, tone subdued. “Of course you’re working. That was… rude of me. Thank you for catching me, I could have gotten hurt in the fall.” 

No one sees Keith right away, coming cat-quiet up the stairs and stopping in the archway, so he has front row seats to Lance ‘Loverboy-the-Tailor’ McClain falling ass over heels for a pretty face. 

The woman has shoved herself free of Lance who is a few feet away, arms still out toward her. She’s doubled up, scrubbing her hands along her lavender slip dress that is streaked with faint red fish blood and a few glinting scales. She seems to realize it’s futile and rises, tossing long silver-platinum hair back from her dark lovely face. 

“Oh… uh…” Lance freezes. “No, I’m… sorry.” 

She laughs a little, a pretty tinkling thing. “Whatever for?” 

“Uh… your dress.” Lance gestures. “I could, er… pay for it?” 

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up incredulously. He doesn’t know anything about clothes but that kind of thing looks out of Lance’s pay grade even if he wasn’t taking his home to the family every week since his dad’s back went last November. 

“That’s very kind of you,” she says, smiling faintly in a way that says she knows that too. “But I’m quite alright. I have other clothes, you see.” She gestures back toward the dock where a man is waiting, watching the scene with equal interest, holding two sets of luggage. 

“Right. Of course you do.” Lance sags briefly. Then he squares his shoulder. “Still, you can’t walk around town like that. Do you want to come up and change here?” 

The woman hesitates, casting a dubious look around the somewhat shabby small boat. Keith steps back, pressing against the archway out of sight, scowling. It might not be the best boat in the world but it’s been in the family for years. Some spoiled mainlander can’t be expected to understand- but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep his mouth shut if he looks her in the face while she disparages his mother’s vessel. 

“It’s clean,” Lance assures her quickly. “It’s got a little sleeping cabin for long trips, you could change there- and it has a lock. Your boyfriend’s welcome to come,” Lance calls down the dock. 

“Definitely not her boyfriend,” the man says, amused. “Want me to come along, Allura?” 

“No,” Allura says briskly. “I’ll be fine, I think. That’s very generous of you. I would appreciate the opportunity. It’s a nice boat, I was just worried about more blood,” she says frankly. “No bodies below deck?” 

“Just the one,” Lance says cheerfully. “Oi! Get out here, Mullet!” 

Keith rolls his eyes and grudgingly walks toward the group clustered on _his_ ship. The mystery man is standing with his back to Keith- a nice broad back in an expensive suit cut to flatter that tapered waist.

“Actually, maybe you could help us after? I’m looking for someone,” the man is saying. 

“It’s not a big island and I’m a local,” Lance says frankly. “Odds are in your favor. Who are you trying to find?” 

“Keith Kogane,” the man says. 

Allura sees him first, smacking the mystery man hard as her eyes go wide. The man looks to her first, giving Keith a quick glimpse of a perfect profile- strong nose and sharp jaw. Then he looks back and meets Keith’s eyes. 

“I’ll show you where you can change,” Lance says loudly. He takes Allura’s suitcase from her loose fingers and leads her past to the cabin. 

“Wait! What are you doing?” She hisses, following him. 

“Keith’s _smiling,_ the world’s probably gonna end.” Lance explains in a rush. 

Then they’re alone. 

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Keith says quietly. “I feel like I’m dreaming.” He tries not to stare and fails miserably. 

“Have... we met?” Shiro asks haltingly. 

“No, I’m… sorry, I’m Keith Kogane.” Keith’s acutely aware that he’s fishy and disgusting and holding a half filled trash back so he just gives a lame little wave with his free hand. 

“Takashi Shirogane,” the man says. “But you already knew that.” 

“I guessed,” Keith grins. “Hoped, maybe. Not too many people come looking for me from the mainland, believe it or not.” 

“Shiro,” the man says, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “No point in formalities, I suppose.” 

“Yeah?” Keith asks, maybe a touch eagerly. “That’s how you signed the letter-” 

Shiro flinches. Keith stops, confused. 

A beat. 

“Sorry,” Keith says finally. “I’m not really sure what the… procedure is, I guess.” If Shiro’s come to meet him, that has to mean he’s willing to give it a shot, but that doesn’t mean Keith can get ahead of himself. 

“We can discuss it,” Shiro says stiffly. “That’s why I came.” 

Keith laughs, low and disbelieving. “Sorry,” he says again. Third time’s the charm, maybe. “I just can’t believe you’re here. I just sent that email last night and… wow. You really came.” 

“You said you didn’t have to be a stranger,” Shiro reminds him. “You said it would be worth my while.” 

Keith’s exact words. Shiro remembers his exact words, every clumsy line. He ducks his head, hoping to hide his sudden pleased flush. Like a kid with a crush, jeez. 

“Got it,” Keith says decisively. “Give me a bit to clean up?” 

Lance and Allura emerge from the cabin, newly dressed in a pink cropped cardigan and silk cami over paper bag pants cinched at the waist with a huge bow that emphasizes her tiny waist. She’s going to freeze when the sun goes down, Keith notes cynically. 

“Making plans?” Lance asks, a hair too eagerly. Whatever, it works for Keith- and then Lance can owe him, which will be nice. Maybe he can get Lance to shut up for an entire shift. Half a shift. An hour or so. 

“Yeah, just gonna clean up first. You two in?” Keith asks. 

Shiro and Allura exchange a long look and several complicated expressions. Keith doesn’t get it, but he does a quick once-over on the ship anyway to give them privacy. Looking good, as always. He elbows Lance who takes it for the compliment it is. 

“Right,” Allura says decisively. “We can talk more over dinner, perhaps? You can just point us in the direction of The Mermaid B&B.” 

Lance and Keith exchange a look. Keith holds the stare a hair longer- defeated, Lance sighs and explains. “We can, sure… but it won’t be open for another six weeks. Plaxum closes up The Mermaid off season. She’d probably make it work anyway but right now she’s visiting her cousins on the mainland.”

“Wow.” Shiro blinks. “That’s the first time Romelle’s made a mistake in what, three years?” 

“Four,” Allura corrects. “And don’t tell her, she’ll be distraught. We’ll just have to find somewhere else to stay. Is there a motel, or…?” 

“Not this time of year,” Lance says sympathetically. “We’re a tourist town, you know? Anyone who comes here off season stays with friends or family.” 

“I see.” Allura bites her lower lip. 

“Veronica’s room is still free, isn’t it?” Keith asks. Lance shoots him a wild look- half grateful and half murderous. “Lance’s older sister, she’s a marine biologist and she’s always traveling- isn’t she on a research trip to Bonaire?”

“Palancar,” Lance admits. “It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’ve got a big family. They’ll hardly mind one or two more.” 

“Nah, Shiro can stay with me.” Keith says. “Right?” 

Shiro startles badly. 

“I don’t think-” Allura begins hotly, but Shiro holds up a hand. 

“That… that might be best. It’s alright Allura, really.” 

“I’d bring you too,” Keith says frankly to Allura, “but Mom’s got a busted leg so she’s got to keep the big bed. Keep it elevated, you know?” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Allura says finally, voice measured. 

“She’s tough,” Keith shrugs. “You can meet her later.” 

Allura and Shiro exchange another one of those loaded glances. This time Lance catches it too. When he sends a questioning look Keith’s way, Keith just shrugs. He’s never claimed to be an expert in reading people, so he’ll just have to trust that if Shiro came all this way, he’s likely to meet Keith halfway on these things. 

Lance takes Allura’s suitcase and Keith takes Shiro’s once he’s tossed the trash and scrubbed his hands more or less clean. Allura accepts it as a matter of course but Shiro frowns.

“You don’t need to do that,” he says. 

Keith shrugs and rolls it along anyway. 

“So… what brings you two to Charity in February?” Lance asks conversationally. “It’s no fun around here till June at least.” 

“Oh, you know.” Shiro says, trailing off. “Just… scouting. The area. For things.” He resolutely does not look at Keith who smiles at nothing in particular. 

“O..kay…” Lance says when it’s clear that’s the end of it, letting the topic die. They make it three steps in silence before he tries again. “Shiro, was it?” 

“Right, sorry. Takashi Shirogane, but you can call me Shiro.” Shiro smiles weakly. 

“Shiro, cool.” Two more steps and Lance freezes. Luckily they’re only one block away from Keith’s place now so he keeps rolling forward. “Wait. _Wait._ Takashi Shirogane… like Atlas Incorporated Takashi Shirogane?” 

“That’s me.” Shiro’s smile is wispy and thin. Keith picks up the pace. 

“What the hell are you doing on Charity Island? I mean-”

“Hunk’s at eight?” Keith interrupts without looking back. 

“Wha- I mean… yeah, right. I’ll call him and give him a heads up.” Lance says, derailed for the moment. 

Keith raises his free hand to wave and then he and Shiro are headed up the gravel drive to the ranch style house. It’s not much, weather beaten and worn by salt and spray, but it’s sturdy and watertight and older than Keith and his mother both and he kind of likes that. He hopes Shiro does too. 

“Hey there,” Keith calls on the way in, stomping his boots on the front step and leaving them outside on the porch. Shiro starts to do the same but Keith grins up at him. 

“Bring ‘em in,” he says. “I leave these out here because of the fish guts.” They’re nice shoes. Nobody on Charity would swipe them- not like in the city, but the weather is unpredictable at best. 

“Right,” Shiro says faintly. He follows Keith into the house still clutching his shiny Italian loafers in his right hand- a prosthetic, Keith notes. That’s right, that’s where he’d heard of Atlas Inc, he’s pleased to remember. They deal in biomedical tech. 

“Hey there,” Krolia calls back from the couch. “Who’s that with you, Lance?” 

“Hardly,” Keith snorts. “We’ve got a guest.” 

“Oh?” Krolia turns her attention on them fully. 

“Shiro, this is my mother, Krolia Kogane. Mom, this is Takashi Shirogane.” Keith gestures between them. “Now we’re all met. Shiro, you can take the room on the right. I’m gonna shower up.” 

Keith doesn’t wait for an answer, heading down the hall and ducking into his room first to grab an armful of clothes from the dresser that he takes into the bathroom and wedges into a corner of the towel cupboard. He takes a little extra time to blow dry his hair after a thorough scrub, self consciously running his hands through the fluffy mess before digging around for a spare hair tie and tying it back from his face. He studies his reflection in the mirror. Not much he can do about it now, but it’s as good as it gets for him. His dark wash jeans fit well and the band t-shirt is soft and clingy under a loose flannel. He’s got a nice enough face, he guesses. Keith wishes he’d had a chance for a haircut… ah well, can’t be helped. He wouldn’t put this off for anything. He’s all nerves stepping out into the hall, but the good kind. The best kind. 

Shiro is still in the living room, luggage forgotten in the entryway. Instead, he’s sitting on the couch, leaning slightly forward and staring in fascination at the television, hands buried in Kosmo’s ruff, scratching under the big dog’s collar while Kosmo pants happily under the attention. 

“Wow, the neighbor caught him on camera,” Shiro says, entranced by the action on-screen. 

“Oh yes. If you slow down the footage, you can actually see him moving the body into the truck inside of a large suitcase,” Krolia points out coolly. 

Keith, carrying Shiro’s suitcase back into the bedroom, grins and shakes his head. 

“Come on, Mom,” Keith complains good naturedly when he returns. Shiro whips around to look at him guiltily. “You’re gonna scare him away.” 

“It’s important to be vigilant,” Krolia insists. “You never know who you can trust.” 

Keith just laughs. “We’re headed to Hunk’s for dinner. I’ll bring you a club sandwich.” 

“With cheese sticks,” Krolia requests. “And apple pie.” 

“Okay okay,” Keith agrees easily. “Come on Shiro.” 

Shiro follows Keith outside. “Do you mind if I just…” Shiro gestures at his phone. 

“Be my guest.” Keith waits on the porch while Shiro steps down into the yard to make his call. 

“Allura?” Shiro asks. Keith tests the wind. It’s not that cold really- but Shiro’s only in his suit and the temperature is sure to drop later. He’s probably not used to sea winds. Keith ducks back inside. 

“Forget something?” Krolia asks. 

“Grabbing some jackets,” Keith explains. He slips on the black leather jacket, comfortable as an old friend. There’s a long dark gray peacoat in back, too big for Keith even after his growth spurt. It’ll look nice on Shiro. 

Krolia’s still watching him when he closes the closet door, her expression softening when she sees what he’s holding. He knows by that much she doesn’t mind. His Dad would hardly mind… might even like the idea of Keith giving his coat to someone already so important to him. 

“He’s the letter man, isn’t he?” She asks quietly. 

“Yeah.” Keith smiles down at the coat. 

“Mm.” Krolia studies him for a moment. There’s probably a lot of things she wants to say to him, but they’ve always done their understanding the quiet way. She might worry but she has faith in him too. 

She turns back to the TV. “Have a nice time,” is all she settles on. 

“Thanks, Mom.” Keith drops a kiss on her head in passing. Outside, Shiro is pacing, whispering into the phone until he sees Keith is back, then he’s hanging up quickly. 

“Everything okay?” Keith asks solicitously. 

“Fine,” Shiro says, tense. “We should probably go.” 

“Sure,” Keith agrees easily, tucking the coat against the crook of his arm for easy carrying. “It’s just up the main road back where we turned off. It’s another three blocks and then a left.” 

Shiro doesn’t seem inclined to start the conversation, which is… fair. It’s up to Keith, isn’t it? He’d promised to make it worthwhile. 

“Hunk’s isn’t really called Hunk’s,” Keith explains. “It’s called Salmon’s Run, and it’s kind of the go-to place on the island. There’s only three food joints open during off season, and the other two close at six.” 

“It wins by default, then.” Shiro says politely. 

“I guess,” Keith says. “But it’s actually really good. I grew up with Hunk, him and Lance and me have been running the boats for the last couple of years- we just hire on a fourth temporary. Food’s his real thing, though.” 

“He has to work the boats?” Shiro prods. “Is the restaurant doing so poorly?” His expression is intense. It makes Keith flush a little. 

“Not at all. It’s been in the family for ages, his uncle and his parents run it for now. It’ll outlive us all. His kid brother’s getting a degree in fisheries management on the mainland right now. Hunk’s kind of just filling in meantime- he says it helps him to understand the ingredients this way, whatever that means. Anyway, when Tank gets back from uni, he’s going to take over reef netting and expand the business a bit. Get a couple more year round people on.” Keith grins proudly. 

“Sounds like they have a solid business plan already in place.” Shiro says slowly. 

“Yeah, they’re great,” Keith agrees, pushing open the door to the jingle of a soft bell. It’s not really all that busy, seeing as it’s a Monday and decently early still. There’s a couple people here and there; Keith nods hello as he leads the way to the back. They greet him warmly, sparing a curious glance for his unfamiliar companion but too polite or island wary of strangers to get closer. Kolivan’s at the bar with Ulaz; they watch Keith and Shiro walk by with their usual impassive expressions. Ulaz does raise his clunky wooden prosthetic arm to say hello, though. Hunk’s uncle waves him through when they pass through the kitchen. 

“He was on the ferry,” Shiro recalls. 

“Yeah, resident ferryman and sheriff,” Keith explains. “Known them all my life.” 

On the far side of the kitchen is another door that takes them back outside, this time inside a fenced off enclosure. There’s a big gate at one side that Hunk’s family uses in the morning to unload the delivery truck. On the other side, right along the fence, is a small building. Keith walks right up and opens the door. 

“Hey, there you are.” Lance says, sounding pleased to see him. “You just missed Pidgeon.” 

“Really? Surprised she didn’t stick around.” Keith holds the door open for Shiro first. Even though the outside is a bit rough, the inside is cozy and well insulated, dark wood and clean lines. The three of them had put a lot into cleaning up their clubhouse all those summers ago. There’s a short bar stocked with the basics and a commercial grade refrigerator unit stocked with beer and soda along one wall. At the long table in the center surrounded by chairs, Lance and Allura sit with their drinks. 

“Shiro?” Allura says curiously. Keith glances over. Shiro’s eyes are glued to the other side of the room where a couple of arcade cabinets sit against the wall. 

“You’ve got Galaga,” Shiro notes, interested. 

“Oh, that one’s mine,” Keith says with surprise. “It was my Dad’s, I mean.” Shiro looks back at him. “It was in storage forever. Hunk helped me rewire it and get it working- he’s got a degree in Engineering, you know? It lives here now.” 

“Are you any good?” Shiro asks with an appraising look, then seems surprised that he’s said it. 

“Oh _man,_ ” Lance rolls his eyes theatrically. The door opens behind them and Hunk shoulders his way through, holding an elaborate tray of assorted appetizers. 

“Hey, Hunk. Shiro- this is Shiro, by the way, _Takashi Shirogane,_ he wants to know if Keith’s any good at Galaga.” 

“ _The_ Takashi Shirogane?” Hunk sounds impressed. “Here, in my clubhouse?” 

“Our clubhouse,” Lance corrects. 

“Still,” Hunk says placidly. 

“Clubhouse?” Allura interjects, eyebrow raised. “What kind of club was this?” 

“Shut it, Lance,” Keith warns darkly. 

Lance holds his hands up innocently. “Don’t look at me. I plead the fifth.” 

“I’ll tell ya,” Hunk says, swirling a piece of celery in the buffalo chicken dip. “If you beat Keith at Galaga.” 

Allura looks at Shiro. “That’s your area of expertise, isn’t it?” 

Keith gestures at the cabinet. “Be my guest.” 

Shiro settles in at the controls and starts a new game. He tests the joystick and seems pleased to find everything responsive and springy. Shiro focuses on the screen, shoulders tense. Keith takes the opportunity to study Shiro, giving up all pretense of following along with the game. 

Keith hadn’t let himself daydream a face to go with the name. If he had thought about what the man who wrote that letter could be like, he kept it simple. Strong hands. Broad back. A smile that could knock you flat with how he meant it. 

Somehow, here Shiro is- all those things and so much more. It’s almost unfair that someone could be all the things that Shiro is and get to look like that too- broad and handsome and classy. It’s like some kind of fairy tale. 

Shiro plays for a long time before he finally dies on level 42. He’s grinning despite the crash and he turns that full force on Keith without warning. It falters then, a little- there’s no way to hide that Keith’s been watching him instead of the game, this close. Whatever, Shiro’s gorgeous. Keith’s not going to pretend he doesn’t like looking at him. 

Allura claps enthusiastically, breaking the mood. 

“That’s good,” Lance says, impressed. “I can never get past level 27.” 

“I haven’t played in years,” Shiro admits stepping back. Keith cracks his knuckles and steps up. 

“My turn,” he says. 

At first there’s conversation in the background but eventually it trails off, everyone clustered around Keith as he plays. It’s a long time but eventually he steps back from the controls. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro demands. “You’re at level 54!” 

“Yeah, so I won, right?” Keith asks, grinning. 

“You win, you win,” Shiro says hastily. “But you could keep playing.” 

Lance and Hunk laugh at that. Shiro looks over, confused. 

“This guy’s a monster,” Hunk explains. “He can play all day.” 

“Seriously?” Shiro turns to look at Keith, his eyes bright. It’s disconcerting, being the focus of that kind of look. “You’ve beat level 255?” 

“Once or twice,” Keith says. Lance snorts. 

“He’d probably be world champion or something if he didn’t get bored and wander off after a while.”

“C’mon,” Keith says, embarrassed. He heads to the cooler and grabs a couple of beers, handing one to Shiro. “You guys don’t want to watch me play Galaga all night.” 

“Right,” Lance agrees, clinking his glass against Allura’s. 

“Speak for yourself,” Shiro says under his breath. Keith sips his drink to hide his grin. It feels nice to do something to impress Shiro, even if it’s something little. He doesn’t think he’s imagining that when they return to the table Shiro’s a little more relaxed. Life’s tough in the city, Keith knows. 

“Main course should be up- wanna give me a hand?” Hunk asks, getting to his feet. 

“I got it,” Keith says, rising too. 

A few minutes later they’re bringing in plates of fresh caught pan seared fish and seafood pasta, fresh bread and local vegetables, steaming and fragrant. 

“Hunk.” Allura takes his hand in both of hers. In the chair next to her, Lance watches with narrow, jealous eyes. “You have a _gift._ ” 

“Aw, Jeez,” Hunk flushes red even after she lets go. 

“I’ve had Michelin starred meals that can’t compare,” Shiro agrees. “It puts my meal plan to shame. You’d make a killing in the city.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Hunk says with a grin. 

“How so?” Allura asks, puzzled. 

Lance seizes on the chance to regain her attention. “It’s only this good because Hunk’s here,” he explains. “Fresh seafood, local produce- even the water mineral content is all perfectly balanced. He’s got like a Ted Talk on it.” 

Hunk nods approvingly. “If you think this is good, wait till you try my pie. I’m really proud of the crust today.” 

“Pie,” Keith recalls. “That reminds me. I need a slice of apple for Mom, and a club sandwich.”

“And mozzarella sticks,” Shiro chimes in. 

“And mozzarella sticks,” Keith repeats with a grateful smile. Hesitantly, Shiro smiles back. 

“You got it, boss.” Hunk mock salutes. “Help me run these dishes back to the kitchen and we’ll get it squared away.” 

They unload at the dish pit where Hunk’s cousin is racking silverware at the end of her shift. 

“Hey, you’re heading home soon, aren’t you, Moa?” Hunk asks too-casually. 

“It’s Monday,” Moa reminds him. “I’m always off this time on Mondays.” 

“Right. Can you do me a solid and drop something off at Keith’s? That’s on your way.” Hunk jerks a thumb back at Keith who looks up from where he’s shoving the glass rack under the spray. 

“Oh, for Krolia? Sure, you guys go pretty late sometimes.” She shrugs. “What’s the order?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Keith says, but Hunk rattles off the order, ignoring him. Moa disappears into the kitchen to drop the mozzarella sticks in the fryer. “Seriously,” Keith protests. 

“Listen,” Hunk says, dropping his voice low. “I don’t think you understand how you’re looking at Shiro- and maybe he doesn’t notice, but Lance and I sure as hell do. I don’t know how you know this guy but he came all the way out here for you, and you…” 

“I what?” Keith asks roughly. 

“You deserve nice things for yourself, Keith.” Hunk claps him on the shoulder. “Now let’s bring the mainlanders some pie and you can take your time getting back home.” 

Shiro _loves_ the pie. He eats two slices on his own and then Keith slides his over without a second thought. Shiro demurs only momentarily, then falls on the third. It’s nice to see him happy, even if it’s just pie.

Maybe Keith could make him happy too, someday. 

Maybe Keith does deserve nice things. 

When it’s time to head back, Allura and Shiro step outside for some fresh air, whispering together in the moonlight while Lance and Keith help Hunk clean up the clubhouse and lock up for the night. 

“How’s she doing over there?” Keith asks. 

“You know my folks. Practically adopted her on the spot. Sylvio already proposed with a ring pop and I think Rachel had an aneurysm when Allura complimented that dress she made.” 

“It’s a nice dress,” Keith says agreeably. 

“You guys should come over for dinner tomorrow night,” Lance suggests. “You know Mami always wants to feed you up.” 

“Maybe,” Keith allows. “Whatever Shiro wants to do.” 

“Shiro, yeah. So spill. How do you know the guy?” Lance asks and Hunk pauses where he’s wiping down the bar, resting his hand in his hand, elbow against the countertop, looking every inch a gossip at a slumber party. 

Keith glares, but Hunk gives him the puppy dog eyes. 

“Dom Perignon,” Keith grunts. 

“Dom Perignon,” Lance echoes. “Dom Perignon, Dom- wait wait wait. That champagne bottle that got caught in the net? It really _was_ a message in a bottle?” 

Keith shrugs. “Yeah. I guess.” 

“What’d it say?” Lance asks. Keith glares, with conviction this time. “Okay, okay. So how’d he get here?” 

“I emailed him about it and said I wanted to meet.” Keith valiantly ignores the flush creeping up his face. “You were on the dock for the rest.” 

“You’re _kidding._ ” Lance whistles. 

“That is the most romantic thing I have ever heard,” Hunk says, voice wobbling. “I’m gonna tell this story at your _wedding._ ”

“Shut up,” Keith says automatically, glancing out the window. Allura and Shiro are still thankfully outside and out of earshot, looking up at the night and talking quietly. “I told him I’d be worth knowing, I didn’t know he was gonna take me up on it. I definitely didn’t know he was gonna take me up on it right now, right at Valentine’s Day. So I’m trying to make my case without blowing it, alright?” 

“Yeah,” Lance says and his voice is quiet and a little wistful. “I get that.” He’s looking out the window too. 

“Allura’s… nice.” Keith says, a little lamely. “I think she had fun tonight.” 

Hunk goes back to wiping the counter, glancing back between them like he wants to say something but won’t risk it. Which is… fair. He isn’t exactly invested in these newcomers the same way, Keith guesses.

Lance just shrugs, smiling a very little. When he turns away from the window, he elbows Keith very lightly in the ribs with affection. “Let’s head back, it’s getting late.”

When they step outside, Shiro and Allura stop whispering, turning to look at them. Shiro’s nervous, Keith realizes. That’s no good. Lance takes off his jacket and drapes it across Allura’s shoulders; she gives him a grateful smile. 

“Would you rather stay at Lance’s tonight?” Keith asks very quietly while they’re distracted. “He really won’t mind, if it’s more comfortable to stay with your friend.” 

“No,” Shiro says, low but firm. “I think we need to settle this.” 

Keith blinks, then nods. He bids Allura and Lance goodnight. Allura is not giving him the most friendly of goodbyes, but she and Shiro seem close. She’s probably worried about him. If anything, it makes Keith like her a bit more. Shiro deserves to have people looking out for him. 

Shiro starts to turn down the gravel drive but Keith shakes his head and continues walking further along the shore. 

“Where are we going?” Shiro asks uneasily. 

“Somewhere we can talk,” Keith answers. “Don’t want to wake my Mom.” 

“Right.” Shiro falls into step beside him. At the end of the road, Keith keeps walking through a little worn path, up a moderately steep little hill that flattens out at the top before dropping down to the beach. It’s a nice little spot with a few flat rocks that make a good seat to look out over the sea. Not much to look at in the dark like this, but the faint smell of salt and the soothing roil of the ocean is soothing. Shiro eyes the rock suspiciously, arms coming up to cross over his chest. The wind doesn’t have anything to break against so it’s always a little cold up here. 

“Hey,” Keith says, stepping up to Shiro and holding out the peacoat. 

“Hm? Oh, that’s… thanks.” Shiro lets Keith awkwardly help him into the coat. It’s a perfect fit, which settles something warm inside of Keith despite the nippy weather. He sits on one rock, and Shiro takes the other. 

“I used to have trouble sleeping when I was a kid,” Keith says quietly. “So I’d sneak out of my window and come up here and just listen to the water. Sometimes I’d fall asleep right here on the rock and wouldn’t wake up till the sun came up. My Mom was always out of the house by then for work. She used to leave me breakfast waiting in the microwave, but she can’t cook, you know? So it was strawberry poptarts every morning till I left for college, just because it was the only thing she remembered me liking when I was little. I hated them by the time I left- the smell makes me sick to think about. But I ate them anyway, every day.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Shiro asks, his expression complicated in the low light. 

“I wanted to,” Keith says. “Do you mind it?” 

“No,” Shiro says. Then again, more slowly, “no,” like he’d turned it over carefully to make sure it’s true. “You’ve been carrying this coat all night.” He touches the front buttons briefly. It ought to look stupid, a no-name old fashioned coat over a nice suit like that, but it doesn’t. Nothing probably would look stupid on Shiro anyway, but its blue grey tones and the dark wool suit and the palor of ocean night washes the scene out like watercolor ultramarine, jewel dark and fathomless. Keith’s hand fairly itches to put it to paper. 

What a nostalgic feeling. He hasn’t drawn in years. Shiro really is amazing. 

“I thought you might get cold eventually,” Keith says. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, and it sounds perfect coming from him. “What is this? What do you want?” 

“Whatever I can get,” Keith says immediately. 

Shiro sighs, looking out over the water again. The curve of his shoulder looks like defeat. “You’re going to need to be more specific if you want me to give it to you.” 

“No,” Keith disagrees. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Shiro frowns in his direction. “Talk to me. Stay a while. Figure it out. I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give me.” 

“...I can’t tell if you’re likable or not,” Shiro admits, bemused. 

Keith laughs. “That means I’ve got a chance, doesn’t it?” He brushes the dirt off his pants and gets to his feet. “It’s a long trip here from the city. Let’s get you to bed.” He holds out a hand and Shiro accepts it, trudging silently behind Keith back to the house. 

~~

Keith is a light sleeper anyway so when the whispering starts, that’s it for him. With a soft groan he sits up all the way, peering over the back of the couch to see where Shiro and Krolia sit at the kitchen table, coffee in hand. It’s a nice sight, two of his favorite people like that. 

Shiro’s looking at him in a strange sort of way. 

“What’s up?” Keith asks with a yawn, getting to his feet and starting to fold up the bedding. 

“Nothing,” Shiro says automatically, then he steals another look. “I didn’t know you were sleeping out here.” 

Keith shrugs. “Hope you slept okay. It’s the same mattress I had through high school.” 

“That’s your room. That’s _your_ room? Why…” Shiro stops mid sentence, looking confused. 

“The couch is even older,” Krolia offers enigmatically. Keith gives her a smile. “We were trying not to wake you.” 

“It’s fine,” Keith assures her. “Gimme a minute and I’ll put breakfast on.” His sleep tank is really just a cut to pieces old workout shirt, three sizes too big, and the sides are slashed long and open. Shiro’s eyes are fixed on Keith’s waist with something like interest; he’s not too proud to fake a stretch that puts his abs on display. When he glances up, Shiro’s face is a little red as he jerks away to stare at his coffee; Krolia is looking far too amused for his own good. Keith purses his lips in a silent attempt to get her to behave before he ducks off down the hall. 

“You know, my son is a very talented artist…” 

Keith tries to drown his embarrassment in the shower, knowing that it’s already too late. When he’s clean and dry and dressed for the day, he steps out to see the kitchen table scattered with drawings. 

“Mom, Shiro doesn’t want to see that stuff,” Keith complains, resolutely not looking to see which ones she’d dredged out of her collection. 

“These are really good,” Shiro says slowly. There’s a new note to his voice- a promising one. Keith digs in the fridge for omelette fixings, hoping the cool air will dissipate his flush. “You went to school for this?” 

Krolia pauses, her hand laid on a picture that Keith sees despite himself. That one’s particularly old, something he drew his first week back on the island out of temporary care, when his mom came back. It’s not good anymore, the lines are too deep and committed, the proportions all wrong but he’d _needed_ to draw it- to put down what Tex looked like while it was still a fresh glowing thing he could see. 

“I did,” Keith says finally. “But I couldn’t hack it, I guess.” 

“Keith,” Krolia says quietly. 

“No, I… Sorry, I don’t mean that.” Keith says, though he’s not sure he means that either. “It didn’t work for me. It was the opposite kind of thing? Being out there sucked all the art out of me, I guess.” 

“The city can be like that,” Shiro says gently. “It’s not a place that’s easy to grow into yourself.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, with a crooked grin. “You’re doing okay though.” 

Shiro’s kind expression falters. Keith clears his throat and turns to the stove. Soon the kitchen is filled with the smell of good things frying in too much butter. 

“You’re good at this,” Shiro says. Hunk had always said Keith seems like the kind of guy who didn’t really care much one way or another what he was eating. 

“Just breakfast,” Keith admits. “I’m pretty unimpressive otherwise.” He flips a pancake prettily in the pan as if to punctuate his point. A surprisingly short time later, Keith is setting up platters of chocolate chip pancakes and bacon cheddar omelettes. Everything is good, but it doesn’t seem to justify the way Shiro wolfs it down.

“Sorry,” Shiro apologizes when he seems to realize that both Keith and Krolia have paused to watch him go to town. 

“No way,” Keith grins. “With a friend like Hunk nobody’s ever that excited about my food. You’re making my whole week.” 

“It’s good,” Shiro says, then frowns. “I mean… it’s well cooked and plated nicely but it’s the family sort of flavor. Like a meal nobody pays for except in ingredients and love.” 

Keith tries to hide his shy flustered expression by distracting Shiro with seconds. It seems to work; Shiro only has eyes for the maple syrup. 

“Thank you for this,” Shiro says honestly after. “I mean that no matter how the rest of this trip goes.”

Keith decides to take that as a challenge. Shiro is very posh in his white cashmere turtleneck and tapered pinstripe pants, but Keith offers him some more… practical clothing for the day’s outing. 

“Thank god,” Shiro says, practically boneless with relief when Keith tentatively offers another armful of stoic plaids and denim. “These pants chafe like nobody’s business and this turtleneck runs small.” 

“Oh yeah?” Keith feigns, trying not to fixate on how it clings to Shiro’s broad shoulders. From the way Shiro pauses when taking the change of clothes, he’s not sure he’s been totally successful.

A little while later, Keith and Shiro meet Allura and Lance waiting with four mountain bikes at the beginning of a trailhead winding along the beach. Lance is dressed much like Keith in worn jeans and a casual wear hoodie, but Allura is like a new person altogether. 

“Isn’t this a _scream?_ ” She asks, giving a little twirl while Lance patiently holds her bike up as well as his own. Her hair is tied up with a scarf in soft pink-orange-blue, like a sunset. She’s wearing pink overalls, nipped in at the waist with a chunky orange belt, the shirt beneath striped white and baby blue. “Lance’s sister leant it to me when I heard we’d be hitting the trail today, Romelle didn’t pack me a _thing_ I could wear for an occasion like this.” Her tone is teasing. She does look cute, like she might just be an island girl, on a double date with friends. 

Keith notices a funny thing just then, though he doesn’t recall it until later. Allura smiles and Shiro’s meant to smile back, he thinks, but instead Shiro glances at Lance and looks just a little melancholy. 

“Your sister did well,” Shiro says. 

“Rachel’s always liked clothes,” Lance says shortly.

“She used to do really detailed watercolor landscapes. Rach has a good eye for color,” Keith says casually, checking the chains on two bikes leaning against the fence before walking one over to Shiro. Lance’s expression relaxes into a more genuine smile at that. Maybe he’s just nervous. 

“She still calls you her favorite customer,” Lance recalls as Allura takes the bike from him. 

“It’s only cause I was the first,” Keith grins. “Five bucks for a mother’s day card.” 

Allura pulls her bike next to Shiro’s leaning in close while the other two reminisce. “Well?” she demands in a low voice, though it still carries over. Keith politely pretends not to hear it. 

“Well, what?” Shiro asks, still looking over her shoulder at Keith. 

“You know what!” Allura prods. 

Shiro grimaces. 

“Ready?” Keith asks, climbing astride his bike. If Shiro wants a distraction, he’s only too happy to provide. 

“Later,” he tells Allura shortly. 

“Shiro-” she begins, but he pushes his bike up until he’s next to Keith. 

“A bike ride, huh?” Shiro asks, amused. 

“A bike _race,_ ” Keith corrects. “Unless all those muscles are for show?” 

Shiro rolls his shoulders back in the way that best shows off his arms and back, ignoring Allura’s annoyed expression in favor of Keith’s clearly interested one. 

“What do I get if I win?” Shiro drawls. 

“Win and find out,” Keith winks. Then he’s bolting up the trail. 

“Aw, come on-” Lance complains, but Shiro is already booking it after him, throwing his not-inconsiderable bulk forward in the seat to pick up speed. In no time at all Allura and Lance are lost on the trail far behind and it’s just Keith and Shiro. Shiro overtakes him once, for an exhilarating moment- then Keith is twisting up a side trail, jumping across a four foot drop to land hard only feet ahead. It’s enough to pull Shiro up short and breathless. 

“Where’d you learn to ride like that, the X-Games?” Shiro asks, a little starry eyed.

Keith grins, sliding off the bike and walking it up the path where it soon opens. They’re very high up now, much higher than Keith’s little escape near the house. From here they can see out over the small town, houses like blobs of paint in vague and beautiful shapes leading down to the dock and the ocean. There are trees here that come almost right up to the edge that serve as a windbreak. Shiro closes his eyes when the sunlight hits him and stays there. Keith lets his bike down into the grass gently and watches him, expression going soft. 

“I guess I lost,” Shiro says quietly. “Too bad.” 

“What were you going to ask for?” Keith asks curiously. 

Shiro opens his eyes. He seems to steel himself, seeing Keith looking back. “My letter,” he says. 

“Your letter?” Keith says, surprised. It hadn’t even occurred to him to offer. Was that… was that normal? “Would you like it back?” 

The answer seems to catch Shiro off guard. His eyebrows narrow in confusion. “You’d just… give it to me? If I asked for it?” 

“Sure,” Keith says easily. “I mean, it’s yours.” Keith’s read it enough to have it memorized anyway, he doesn’t add. He couldn’t forget if he tried. No need to come on any stronger than he already is, though. 

The sound of a car door closing distracts Shiro, and when they turns to look down the small loose gravel road leading up from the opposite side, Keith sees the delivery truck with _Salmon Run_ painted on the side parked there.

“Reinforcements,” Keith says cheerfully. “Let’s give them a hand.” 

Hunk waves, gesturing for Keith to take the other side of the folding picnic table and help him carry it to the bluff. “Oh, Shiro- wanna give Pidge a hand? She’s around back with the cooler.”

“Sure,” Shiro says a little softly, making his way down the slope. After the table is set up, Hunk waves Keith off- he never lets anyone help with the plating. Keith starts to round the back of the truck to give the others a hand. 

“Here, let me-” he hears Shiro begin.

“Yeah, why don’t you help me back here for a sec, Shiro?” Pidge asks, voice low and dangerous. 

Keith pauses, just around the corner and out of sight. 

“Katie? What-” 

“It’s Pidge,” she interrupts. “Pidge Gunderson.” 

“Right.” Shiro says, sounding unimpressed. “Does Matt know you’re here?” 

“No, but I’m sure you’ll let him know,” she snarks back. 

“You’re eighteen, Katie-” 

“ _Pidge,_ ” she hisses. 

“Pidge. You’re eighteen. You had a scholarship lined up, an internship, your parents bought you a brownstone-” 

“I’m eighteen, exactly.” She agrees triumphantly. “And that means I can do whatever I want- that includes working a fishing boat for a summer.”

“It’s February,” Shiro reminds her. 

“Or two. Maybe a second summer,” Pidge says sulkily. “I’m making enough money to live and I’m learning practical things. Not something an Ivy Leaguer like you would probably understand.” 

“Your scholarship is to Princeton.”

“That’s not the point.” Pidge pokes him in the center of the chest. All of them pause hearing voices coming up the trail- Lance and Allura set their bikes to the side and head over to Hunk. 

Keith’s at a loss. Should he go back? Should he come around? He shifts awkwardly in place. 

“What is the point, then?” Shiro asks. “When my best friend’s little sister falls off the map for the last nine months, I think I’m allowed to be a little concerned.” 

Pidge’s voice softens slightly. “Hunk told me the whole story. I could have kept my head down until you took off, so I’m here for a reason.” 

Keith decides to come clean, stepping around the corner in time to see Shiro gesture with his right hand, palm up. Neither of them look in his direction. He starts to speak- 

“What are you doing here, Shiro?” Pidge asks bluntly. “I know what he thinks you’re doing here. You tell me what you think you’re doing here.” 

“I wrote an indiscreet letter,” he says bluntly. “He wants money and I’m here to negotiate terms.” 

Keith’s words stick in his throat and his heartbeat kicks up. 

Oh. 

…. oh. 

“Fuck,” Pidge says finally. “Shiro, you need to get the hell out of here.” 

Shiro blinks, stunned. “I don’t understand,” he says weakly.

“Keith’s in love with you,” Pidge says without preamble, just as Keith is thinking it can’t possibly get worse. “Or whoever he thinks you are based on that letter. He wanted to meet you and he’s been trying his Keith best to charm you back this whole time you’ve been here.” 

“What?” Shiro asks, shocked. He starts to look over- 

“Ah ah ah. No. Get back here, Shiro.” Pidge fists the front of his shirt and tugs, keeping Shiro’s gaze firmly on her. “You don’t get to do that.” 

“Do what?” Shiro asks, only half paying attention. 

“Pretend like you’re interested now,” Pidge says and Shiro looks down, surprised. 

“I-” Shiro begins and Keith can’t take it. Whatever Shiro is going to say- Keith can’t stand to hear it. 

“Food’s up,” Keith interrupts. 

Pidge and Shiro freeze. 

“Crud,” Pidge mutters, releasing her hold on Shiro who slumps against the van like her tiny arms were the only thing holding him up. 

“Keith-” Shiro says weakly 

Keith shakes his head, picking up the cooler. It’s heavy but the weight gives him something to focus on. “You might as well eat before you head back to city.” 

Allura is laughing at something Lance has said when they get back to the table and Lance’s dreamy, delighted expression lands on Keith for a split second before his eyes narrow. 

“What-” 

“Voltron,” Keith says and Lance shuts his mouth. 

“What’s a… Voltron?” Allura asks curiously. Behind them, coming up the gravel road, Pidge and Shiro slink up like guilty pups, tails between their legs. Keith can’t look at them. He sits so he’s facing the view instead, looking just past Allura and Lance to the water stretching out to the horizon. It really is pretty, a romantic place for a picnic. 

“That was our clubhouse,” Keith explains, taking a sandwich on autopilot when Hunk passes the tray around. Seafood club, his favorite. “When we were dumb kids we made a friendship pact. Lance came up with the name.” 

“You guys approved it,” Lance says softly, his brows furrowed in concern. He’d usually be off the rails about their embarrassing backstory but his Keith-senses must be tingling and some things are bigger than girls and pride. 

“It had to be something new and fake,” Hunk adds, zeroing in on the tension as well. “It’s our codeword. We use it when we really need something, even if it’s just to be left alone.” 

“I was such a dumb kid,” Keith says, shaking his head. His hands are shaking too, actually, and he’s getting crumbs everywhere. “You remember that chant we used to do? I say _Vol_ you say _tron_ but I couldn’t get it-”

“Keith…” Lance glances between him and Shiro, expression going sharp. 

“I was so stupid-” 

“What did you do?” Lance interrupts, staring daggers at Shiro. 

Allura frowns. “Why should he have done anything?” 

“Allura, don’t-” Shiro pleads. 

“No, Shiro- you’re always too soft with people. I’m sure Lance would behave quite differently if he knew what his _friend_ had been up to-” 

“You should go,” Keith says, standing abruptly. “You should… you should go.” He walks away from the table as Allura’s cellphone begins to ring. 

“What? Lotor, now don’t take that tone with me- there’s hardly any reception on this backwater island, you can’t expect me to just…” He glances back in time to see the amused roll of her eyes and it occurs to Keith that she’s making fun of them. A dozen little sly looks, low whispers, backhanded compliments- she’s been staying with Lance’s family, flirting and playing at island life in Lance’s sister’s clothes and she’s been making fun of all of them this entire time. 

And Lance isn’t stupid- not like Keith is stupid, he gets people. When Keith was on the edge of losing it and all he could do was call and mutter _Voltron_ in the phone like a little kid, Lance had been the one to come and get him and bring him home, just like that. Lance knows what Allura is like, and he’s crazy about her anyway. 

Keith’s angry because angry is easy- angry at Allura’s judgemental nature, at Shiro’s cynicism, at Pidge’s lies, at Lance’s acceptance…

But most of all Keith is angry with himself. If he never wrote that email, none of this would ever have happened. 

“Keith,” Shiro says behind him, 

The others are still visible but pretty far away- Keith had been quick, itching to put distance between himself and the others so he could lose it properly. Shiro’s bad luck to be around for it, he supposes. 

“You should go,” Keith says evenly, finding a last wellspring of patience he didn’t know he even had in stock. Shiro’s just been a wonder for learning new things about himself. “The last ferry run is in about two hours, that gives you time to get your stuff together and down to the dock if you’re quick.” 

“It’s fine,” Shiro says automatically. “The ferry’s on standby.” 

“What?” Keith asks, turning to look at Shiro who has the gall to look sorry, big grey eyes liquid and appealing. 

“We paid a retainer fee,” Shiro explains. “The ferry is on standby for whenever we call it.” 

And Keith… snaps. 

“Get your shit and get the fuck off my island,” he snarls. Shiro takes a half step back in the face of Keith’s rage. “Who do you think you are? You come here and throw money at your problems till they aren’t problems for _you_ anymore. Did you ever wonder how Ulaz lost that arm? Why he has to run the ferry on his own a dozen times a day to keep the lousy insurance we get out here? Why the ferry doesn’t run after dark, because there’s a goddamn reason. We might take the money because we’re poor, but we’re still real people, Shiro!” Keith shakes his head without waiting for an answer. 

“That’s not fair,” Shiro begins hotly, but then Keith is walking up to him. He pulls something small and square from his wallet, where he’d kept it all this time. Safe. Close. 

What a joke. 

“Here,” Keith says, eerily calm. “Mission accomplished, time to go home. I don’t want this anymore.” 

Shiro’s hand comes up automatically to take it and Keith steps around him, walking off down the gravel path away from his broken heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Katie Holt comes home for Christmas, which is the only comfort Shiro can take from what Allura calls _their little island adventure_ despite the way it makes Shiro visibly cringe. 

Shiro’s parents are in Switzerland this season (last year had been France and the year before Milan). Shiro plans to spend Christmas the same way he had the previous years- in his office, at home or at Atlas, going over papers and ignoring the rest of the world. At least this time there wouldn’t be a fight with Adam to deal with afterward. 

That’s where Pidge finds him. 

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the doorway and watching him with quietly judgemental eyes. He’s always liked that about Katie- the way she’s sharp about the right things. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, pleased to see her. He wasn’t sure she’d want to- they hadn’t left on the best of terms. She’d been the one to chauffeur him around the island to collect his things and wait on the dock to be taken back to the city practically in exile, and though she’d been quietly fuming, he had stopped her before getting on the boat. 

“You’re eighteen,” he’d said to her. “And you’re clever and capable. I’m not going to rat you out- just do me a favor and drop your brother a postcard? He’s worried as hell.” 

She’d sighed then. “He’ll track me down that way,” she’d said, disgruntled. 

“The great Pidge Gunderson? No way,” Shiro had assured her with confidence. That had cracked a smile then, a brief and lovely thing he’d missed. 

“You’re a good guy,” Pidge had said softly. “The best brother I never had.”

“I’m not a good guy,” Shiro had replied. 

“You are,” Pidge had insisted. “You just forget sometimes.” 

And now here they are, nearly ten months later. 

“Come on,” Pidge says, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Come on… where?” Shiro asks warily. “Allura didn’t send you?” 

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Definitely not.” 

Shiro feels bad about it but somehow it’s been… harder to spend time with the usual crowd since getting back from Charity. 

“You’ve got to admit, it’s like something from a movie,” Allura had said lightly, touching up her make up on the plane back. “It’s really kind of cute.” 

“Cute,” Shiro had echoed. 

It hadn’t felt cute. It had felt awful. Watching Keith’s face fall, the way he struggled to hold in all the hurt and anger… 

Realizing all those little moments before _had_ been real, and Shiro had been… 

“You’re spiraling,” Pidge interrupts again. 

“Hm?” Shiro looks up. 

“You’re distracted, Shiro.” Pidge closes his laptop gently, slow enough that he could stop her if he wanted. “Everyone’s noticed. Come take a break.” 

“Okay,” Shiro agrees. 

He ends up sprawled on the couch watching the Holts argue over decorations on the tree. They’re at Matt’s place, since Pidge’s brownstone is so empty it’s more or less a storehouse for works in progress and both the Holt kids unequivocally refuse to fly out to the family home. 

“Who goes to _Vermont_ in the winter?” Pidge snorts. “Mom and Dad will be down after New Years anyway.” 

“New Years,” Shiro parrots, staring down into his mulled wine. 

Matt plunks a Santa hat on Shiro’s head. “You got your speech all set?” He asks sympathetically. 

“No,” Shiro admits. 

“I’d be shocked and awed that the Golden Boy isn’t ready and raring to go, but I know this isn’t what you wanted.” Matt says frankly. 

“Garrison won’t fund open access. I don’t have many options- either delay release indefinitely and hope I come across some angel investors willing to make the tech available to the public or go with limited release now and only the elite will have access.” Shiro shrugs. “I’ll wing it, I guess.” 

“You ever think maybe this isn’t really the place for you?” Matt asks. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says hastily at the look on Shiro’s face. “You’re amazing at what you do, and I love having you around, but… you have options.” 

“What would I even do?” Shiro asks. 

“Get a job,” Pidge snorts. 

“You’re rich, Shiro.” Matt says frankly. “Do whatever the hell you want.” 

~~

Shiro isn’t a particularly religious man, but this day feels very much like what hell must be like. Aside from a lukewarm coffee he forgets until half past twelve, he eats and drinks nothing, too busy hashing and rehashing, pleading and re-promising in a seemingly impossible attempt to hold everyone to the agreement they’ve conveniently forgotten in this crucial week leading up to the public announcement. 

“Everyone likes the _idea,_ ” Sanda says in her insufferable way. “It’s the commitment of Garrison resources without guarantee-” 

Shiro grits his teeth and smiles. He calls Matt after but can’t even manage to rant- just sighs while Matt gives him a pep talk about the press conference later on. At least he and Pidge will be there- two friendly faces in a sea of obligations. 

Shiro cuts on the shower. “I gotta go.” He’s still got to come up with a speech outline and be there early enough to meet and greet the first arrivals. 

“Hey Shiro.” Matt hesitates. “Are you… okay?” 

“No,” Shiro says shortly, then hangs up the phone. He’ll be sorry for it later. The truth is that he’s miserable and when he steps into the shower, Shiro squeezes his eyes shut against the spray and a few tears escape. He keeps his head bowed. 

He doesn’t want to be wrestling this stupid project or sucking up to investors who don’t want even a fragment of his project to succeed except when it comes to money and prestige. 

He spends too much time thinking about Keith. It had been hours- not even a full day, but it had been a special kind of magic. A once in a lifetime meeting, maybe. 

What if it hadn’t been a mad little dream or a crazy misunderstanding? What if it was a story they’d tell at their wedding someday. 

Dreams are dreams, and reality is reality. Shiro can’t afford that kind of hope. 

Shiro sighs and reaches for the soap. 

For a few hours he’s busy with the minutiae of the event. He greets newcomers, makes introductions, shakes hands with his prosthetic, top of the line... you’ve heard of the Arus Project? There’s an announcement later, actually-

“Adam,” Shiro says, hand already outstretched automatically. 

“Takashi,” Adam says. He shakes Shiro’s hand like they’re old friends. He’d always liked that about Adam, the way he’d accepted the prosthetic as just another part of Shiro- like the white in his hair or his dreams for Atlas. 

“Big night for you,” Adam says, attempting a smile. 

Part of Shiro wants to believe that Adam wants the best for him- that as his former lover they can put things behind them and be friends, or at least friendly again. 

But Shiro knows that the Weatherington Group shares have dropped steadily since their break with Atlas over the Arus Project and the gleam in Adam’s eye looks a little too much like a dollar sign. Something in his expression must show his train of thought because Adam flushes guiltily. 

“Takashi-” 

But then Shiro sees Pidge and Matt checking their coats. “Please enjoy the rest of your evening,” Shiro says without looking back, walking quickly to intercept them. 

“You look like you need a friendly face,” Matt says sympathetically. “When did you eat last?” 

“Screw that, take a shot with me,” Pidge pipes up. “That’ll get you in a better mood pronto.” 

“One shot,” Shiro says, smiling. “Then food? I got them to make seafood club minis.” 

Pidge raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, for which he is grateful. It isn’t half so good as the island picnic he’d ruined anyway. 

Pidge ducks and weaves through the crowd with ease; Shiro is only able to track her by keeping an eye on the emerald green catsuit and a black oversized blazer he’s pretty sure belongs to Matt. When he gets to the bar she’s already got two whiskey shots waiting. 

“Didn’t think you were a brown liquor type,” Shiro remarks. 

“Keith put me on to it.” She says casually, watching his reaction closely. Shiro attempts a smile. 

“About that,” Shiro says hesitantly, encouraged when she merely blinks at him. “Is he…” 

“...Charity Island.” 

Both Shiro and Pidge turn toward the voice. Allura is talking to Romelle and a few socialites he recognizes- Acxa from the American Ballet Company, Florona, heiress to Neptune Fisheries. 

“Perfect little bohemia, I’ve already picked out the nicest little plot of land for a most reasonable price, especially before development-” 

Shiro and Pidge exchange a glance and then head that way. 

“That’s so clever of you,” Nyma of Universal Repossessions simpers. “However did you find the place?” 

“That is the best part of the story,” Allura begins, eyes sparkling. “This quaint little fisherman found a message in a bottle-” 

“Allura,” Shiro says, voice cold. She falters, glancing up at him. 

“Shiro, darling,” she greets, stepping toward him to kiss his cheek. “I was just telling them-” 

“All about those hicks on Charity too stupid to know the value of their own seaside realty,” Pidge cuts in, bristling. 

“Oh!” Allura brings a delicate gloved hand to her mouth. She makes a lovely picture, all loose light hair over tanned skin, a delicate pink off-shoulder tulle dress skimming the floor just like a princess in a storybook. “I didn’t know Shiro had a guest from the island here.” She looks at Shiro searchingly, like she’s entitled to his secrets. 

“You remember Pidge,” Shiro says cordially, putting a hand on Pidge’s shoulder in support. “I should say Katie Holt, rather?” 

“Holt?” Allura tilts her head to the side, zeroing in on Pidge. “Oh! Of course, I… didn’t recognize you, how silly of me. But you had quite a different sense of style back at your debut.” 

The group around Allura titters in polite amusement- at Pidge, at Charity, at Keith who they don’t even know-

Pidge had taken Shiro to get his things and Lance had taken Allura. Before he’d left, though, when Allura had been chattering to Lotor blithely on her phone at the edge of the dock, Lance had said something before he left. Something Shiro thinks about now, in this moment. 

“I don’t know what you think you know about Keith,” he’d said. “I’ve known him forever and sometimes he’s still a hard read. He’s not like- he doesn’t _know_ how awful we can be. People, I mean.” Lance’s voice dropped a little. 

“People,” Shiro had echoed. They’d both glanced up the dock when Allura had said something sharp and unhappy into the phone, then looked away. 

“He’s not like me,” Lance amended.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro had said, and that time they both knew he didn’t mean Keith. 

“I knew the score. I mean I knew how it was gonna be, even when she was looking my way.” Lance shrugged, fake-casual. “It’s like… sitting in the sunlight, right? Warm and perfect for a little while, and then it goes away.” 

Shiro doesn’t know what to say or do. 

“It’s okay,” Lance said, seeing his expression, and even sounded like he meant it. “Keith and me, we’re island types, right? Rugged fishermen and all that jazz. We’re gonna be fine.” His voice turned serious. “But I’m gonna tell you something, just between you and me. You’re going back to your champagne and diamond life and every person there is going to think that someone like Keith wasn’t good enough, you were out of his league. They’ll laugh about the story when you tell it. But you and me? We’re going to know it was the other way around. And you don’t deserve him.” 

Shiro isn’t sure how long he’s zoned out, suddenly people are too close and it’s so loud. People are talking to him- people he’s supposed to care about, people who maneuver him up on stage under bright lights, in front of cameras with blinking red. 

People who would laugh at Keith. 

Shiro’s always been good at this part. He can smile and project warmth and confidence and calm and stability. He has the speech planned out, index card points in his jacket pocket, just in case- but he rarely needs them. 

In the shimmer of the stage lights reflecting off a half dozen cameras, Shiro hesitates. 

There’s a letter in his office, in the third drawer. He’d put it there the day he came back and hasn’t looked at it sense. He wish he had, now. Ten months and he still doesn’t know what he’s put to paper. 

What had he said, to make somebody like Keith give him a chance he threw away? 

What kind of man had he seemed to be, to hurt Keith so terribly when he wasn’t? 

What kind of man did he even _want_ to be?

Shiro straightens up and faces the cameras. 

“When I was twenty, I lost my arm.” The crowd is polite, attentive. Sanda’s face, though, is stern. Sentimentality never sat right with any of the Garrison reps. 

“And now I’m CEO of Atlas Incorporated, here to announce the launch of the Arus Prototype.” Shiro lifts his arm to display the prosthetic. “I should be telling you about how it was hard work and dedication that brought us here. That every person involved with this project has given their all to make this happen, for the good of humanity… that this is some step forward in medicine, that we should be proud of what we’ve done.” 

The sardonic little edge creeping into his voice has a few people near the front shifting nervously. 

“I’m supposed to be telling you about my personal feelings. How my achievements mean that anyone can do great things. And maybe you can… but I didn’t.” Shiro shakes his head. “I was born to privilege. I’ve always had advantages that one person in a million couldn’t claim. I did work hard, and I did my best, but I was always ahead of the game. Just like every one of you attending here as a guest today,” Shiro says, lifting his eyes to scan over the room. “But that wasn’t what Arus was supposed to be. It was supposed to help people- people who weren’t born with wealth or connections. People who just… needed it.”

It’s now so quiet that Shiro can hear himself breathing, hear himself swallow nervously. Adam, he sees vaguely at the edge of the crowd, looks as though he’s been slapped. It might have pleased Shiro a little, once, but now he’s past it. 

“I’m sorry to say that the project’s intentions were compromised. By investors, yes-” the crowd murmurs discontentedly, “but most of all by myself. I let my circumstances keep me from doing the right thing, but I won’t be doing that anymore. The Arus Project will delay launch, perhaps indefinitely. Atlas Inc will not support release until we are able to find a way that is fair, equitable, and available to all. Thank you for coming out tonight, I will not be taking any questions.” 

Shiro steps smartly off the stage, voices raising in a cacophony behind him. He does not stop, shrugging off grasping hands and fingers along his arm, supplicating and demanding in turn. There will be penalties to pay, later, and business relationships damaged beyond repair, but he can’t care. 

He manages to leave the hall and make it to his private elevator but the door is arrested as it closes. Allura stands, as disheveled as he’s ever seen her, hair fluffed just a touch too much to be artful, her breathing faster than usual, long skirt gathered in one arm. Shiro does not particularly want to see her, but she is in the elevator and they are travelling upward before he can react properly. He closes his eyes instead, leaning back against the elevator wall. 

“What are you doing?” Allura asks, her voice almost lost entirely in its shock. “Have you lost your mind?” 

“No,” Shiro says shortly. 

“Are you drunk?” Allura demands. “You’re ruining all your prospects-” 

“What prospects, Allura?” Shiro asks, opening his eyes. “I’m already rich.” 

Allura rolls her eyes. “It isn’t about _money._ It’s about your future, your reputation-”

“Among the ‘superficial social climbers in our circle?’” Shiro asks, a touch ironic. 

“We still have to live here, among them.” Allura insists. 

“Is that what you told Lance?” Shiro asks. 

Allura looks confused. 

“That poor kid you ran ragged back on Charity knowing damn well you were going back to Lotor without a second glance.”

Allura flushes. “That is none-” 

“None of my business?” Shiro prompts. “You _love_ to try and dictate my life- if I’m living it right, if I’m hitting some invisible standard you have for me, so let’s try you.” 

The door dings for the top floor, but Shiro hits the ground floor button. The elevator pauses, shifts, and heads back down to the lobby. 

“Are you in love with Lotor?” Shiro demands. “Do you want to marry him? Do you mean to try- _really_ try, like your parents did, like you said you wanted? We’ve been friends a long time, Allura. Did you ever mean any of what you said?” 

Allura’s flush grows. She does not speak. The elevator moves between floors. 

“Why did you flirt with that kid? Why did you let him do everything in his power to make you happy and then turn that trip into a punchline for people you don’t even like? Did you have fun slumming it on our ‘island adventure?’ Because I didn’t!” 

Allura looks outraged, hands clenched into fists at her side. 

“That’s what I thought,” Shiro says with dark satisfaction as the elevator door opens in the lobby. “Hey, you know what? I get it. I really do. But they’re real people, Allura- Lotor _and_ Lance. Do whatever you want… you always do. But don’t come after me because I decided to give up creating my own rich kid problems.” 

Allura steps back out into the lobby. Her shoulders are stiff though her breath hitches- the beginnings of a sob. Shiro jams the door closed button. He’s too keyed up to focus on anything else. Later, maybe, he’ll need to apologize. Allura hasn’t done anything to Lance that Shiro hasn’t done to Keith and worse. The person he’s really angry at is himself.

When Shiro makes it to the top, he unlocks the desk drawer and he reads: 

_When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut. There were stars out there and I wanted to touch them. It didn’t matter that stars don’t work that way. I was in love with being alive and all the possibilities that come from that. Everything was so bright, so colored with love and a future I wanted to be in because the here and now was so wonderful that everything coming had to be just as amazing._

_I wish I felt like that now. I wish I could look up at stars at night on some beach somewhere and just… be. Maybe it’s better if you share it with someone… the right someone. I don’t know why I feel like there’s a glass pane between me and the rest of the world. I want to say ‘look at me! I’m right here!’ I want to smash it to pieces. I want someone to see me do it._

_I want to make a choice and know it’s the right one. I want to be a good person, not just a nice one. I want to remember what it’s like to be in a moment again. I want to see someone smile and think, ‘ah, that’s for me. I did that.’ I want to fall in love. I want someone to love me back and love me best._

_I can’t feel this… yearning forever. I have to put it away and be practical sometimes. All the time, it feels like. I’m going to throw this bottle in the ocean, and I’ll think: there goes that feeling. All better now._

_But that’s not true, is it? Those feelings don’t go, and this letter didn’t either. You’re reading this. And so if you’ve ever felt this way… I want you to know I understand. I see you. I hear you. And you’re worth knowing and loving._

_Love,_  
_Shiro_

He looks at it for a long, long time.


	4. Chapter 4

“Sure you don’t want me to come along for the ride?” Lance asks one more time as Keith zips up his new backpack, a parting gift from Krolia who’s already out on the boat for the day. They’d said their goodbyes over breakfast and strawberry poptarts. 

Keith shoots Lance a half smile as he locks up the front door. “You can walk me to the dock,” he offers instead and Lance rolls his eyes. 

“Just try to shake me.”

“I’ll miss you.” Keith says. Lance stops walking. Keith stops too, looking a little past Lance to the docks ahead and the ferry docked there waiting. The people coming and going. His eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly before he schools his expression back to neutral. 

“Hey,” Lance says nervously. 

It’s easier this way for Keith, to not have to look when he says it, eyes fixed behind Lance. Even when it’s important- maybe more when it’s important. 

“Thanks for bringing me home when school fell through. Thanks for being there when my Dad died. Thanks for helping me this year.” 

“You might as well just thank me for being your best friend,” Lance says, trying to hide his earnest affection behind a joke. 

Keith does look him in the eye then. “Thanks for being my best friend.” 

“Wow.” Lance laughs, looking down at his feet. “I… me too, you know? Thanks, Keith. I… I really could come, if you wanted.” Lance says again, seriously this time. “I could take a little time off the boats. It’s the slow season right now anyway, and my sister’s home to help around the house…” 

Keith shakes his head. “You’re supposed to be here,” he says. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance asks, confused. 

“Hello,” a soft voice says. Lance freezes. Keith studies him, the way his face spins through surprise and confusion and settling on a resigned sort of happiness. 

“Allura,” Lance says, turning to look at her. 

Allura and Pidge stand together. They aren’t dressed like socialites or like islanders. Their clothes are practical and neat if not cheap, and each of them carries a suitcase. 

“What are you doing here?” Lance asks, but he takes a little step in her direction, unable to resist. 

“I found a job,” Allura says lightly, nudging Pidge with her hip.

“Charity Island Council approved my proposal to test a new form of satellite enhanced wireless network connection- one that’s more stable in inclement weather. If everything goes to plan, the island will be up and running on the new system by the summer season.” Pidge explains busily, falling into step beside Keith. 

“I’m assisting,” Allura murmurs. “I picked up some real estate we might use for the project.” 

“Assisting,” Lance echoes. 

“For now,” Allura agrees. “And then- if Charity Island is on the grid I thought I might… stay.” 

Keith grins, making his way down the dock and raising his hand in a wave. He’d always liked Allura. He should have figured a smart girl like that wouldn’t pass up somebody like Lance. Pidge comes along, giving the two a moment. 

“Did you see?” Pidge asks, when it’s the two of them. “Shiro’s speech.” 

Keith nods. Even for him it was impossible to miss, it went so viral. Ulaz, of all people, had shown him the feed one night at the Salmon Run bar. 

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Keith had said unhappily at the time. He hadn’t known what to make of the sudden sharp honesty- the little slice of self-deprecation. It was a little too real- a little too close to _if you’ve ever felt this way_ and he hadn’t known what to do with it or the feelings along with it. Bottle them up, he guesses. Throw them out to sea. 

“I don’t think I can dislike a man like that,” Ulaz had said shortly and they hadn’t talked about it again. 

Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? 

Keith can’t either. 

Ulaz grunts at Keith when he boards- it’s just him on the outgoing today, he guesses. Ulaz has the news feed playing on the mounted flatscreen that shows highlights from the city. 

“The viral video from last month’s Industry Gala has made its way to some high places. After a new pledge from Altea Industries and Olkari Medical, the Arus Project Robotic Prosthetic will be available to the general public. A little over a hundred thousand qualified recipients can look forward to the first series roll out beginning next month-”

“He did it,” Keith whispers, awed despite himself. 

“I… did.” 

Keith stiffens. Ulaz goes up to the cabin to start the trip, leaving him alone with Shiro, who stands just inside the door out of sight. 

“This is an ambush,” Keith accuses. 

Shiro nods. 

“You came over with Allura. Why-” Keith drops his bag to the chair, clamping down on the sentence midword. 

“A little bird told me you were leaving,” Shiro says. “I had to try first. Will… will you let me?” 

Keith sits, looking away. “Don’t have much of a choice,” he grunts. 

“You do.” Shiro stays where he is. 

“I say no and then what? We stare at each other for the two hours it takes to hit mainland?” Keith rolls his eyes. 

“You say no and I go on deck for two hours and look at the ocean. The weather’s nice enough. Then we get to the mainland and we go our separate ways.” Shiro’s looking at him, but not pleading or sad, just looking. Like he wants to look at Keith so long as Keith lets him. 

Keith kicks at the chair anchored to the floor across from him. Shiro sits obediently, but before he can begin, Keith speaks first. 

“Pidge said people forget how to be good, in the city. I knew that. I wasn’t… good. When I lived there.” He glances at Shiro through his bangs. “You probably looked that up already.” 

Shiro shakes his head. “Allura did, though.” he admits. “When we thought the worst.” 

Keith scowls. 

“I love you, Keith.” Shiro says. His voice isn’t warm, it’s clear and piercing, the same way his grey eyes are, fixed on Keith and seeing him. Maybe for the first time, properly. 

Keith crosses his arms over his chest. “Not possible.” He doesn’t sound angry, just matter-of-fact. 

It startles Shiro into a little smile that arrests Keith’s attention for just a moment too long. “And yet.” 

“Even if it was true, the Shiro I thought I was getting doesn’t exist. So it’s a no-go.” Keith looks away resolutely. 

“Which Shiro is that?” Shiro asks softly. He doesn’t touch Keith, just looks like he wants to, more than anything. 

“The Shiro who wrote that letter. The Shiro who was on the island. I get that you have responsibilities, but the city, money, expectations- they make you someone else. I… I know. I tried it there and I fell apart. If we tried like that, we’d fall apart too.” Keith confesses. He risks a look at Shiro and is almost annoyed to find Shiro looking even more entranced than before. 

“Are you hearing me?” Keith demands, grabbing Shiro’s wrist where it rests on the table. Shiro turns his arm so their hands rest palm to palm; his smile blooms. 

“Yeah,” Shiro breathes happily.

“So… that’s it.” Keith says, bewildered. “You’ve got to go back and I’ve got to go somewhere else.” 

“Where’s that?” Shiro asks. 

“Dunno,” Keith hedges. “Arizona, first. Maybe Colorado. See some desert and some mountains. I always said I’d try landscapes, one day.”

“You’re painting again,” Shiro realizes, delighted. 

“I… am.” He says grudgingly. “Maybe. Thinking about it- why are you so _happy?_ Seriously, are you listening-”

“You don’t like city Shiro. You don’t want to do long distance.” Shiro recites. “But that doesn’t sound like… a no.” 

“No?” Keith echoes, confused. 

“Do you love me?” Shiro asks. This time he does curl his fingers in a little so they brush against Keith’s knuckles, soft and affectionate. 

And Keith can’t say no. 

He doesn’t even want to say no.

_I want to meet you. I think it could be worth your while._

_You’re worth knowing and loving._

The longer he hesitates, the brighter Shiro’s eyes look, until it hurts as much to keep looking as it would to look away again. 

“What do you want, Shiro?” Keith manages when it’s just this side of too much. 

“I want to take you to Arizona,” Shiro says immediately. “And Colorado. And anywhere else you want to go.” 

Keith blinks. “...what?”

“I gave up my position at Atlas. I’m still an intermediary, but between Olkari and Altea, it made more sense to integrate the boards- especially with their experience in the public sector.” Shiro explains. 

“...You quit your job to come chasing after me?” Keith asks, incredulous. 

Shiro shakes his head. “I quit my job because I was unhappy and I wanted to be happy. It just so happens that you’re an intrinsic factor in that.” 

“What if I said- say… say no.” Keith corrects himself, but he still can’t quite pull back from where Shiro is stroking his thumb over Keith’s rabbiting pulse point. 

“Then I go,” Shiro says, but he doesn’t let go. 

“What if I need time?” Keith asks.

“Then I wait,” Shiro says. 

“How long?” Keith demands.

“As long as it takes.” 

“What if I never want to see you again?” Keith asks, to be sure.

Shiro smiles, though it’s small and secret. “Then I’m just happy I got to see you one more time first. And I’m grateful for everything. You saved my life, Keith. That’s more than enough. I’m so glad it was you who found my letter.” 

Keith’s breath catches in his throat. He stills. 

“...Keith?” Shiro’s eyebrow scrunch with concern. 

“What if I never want you to go?” Keith asks, voice a small and tattered thing. His eyes are wide and lovely. 

“Then I don’t leave.” Shiro promises. 

“Just like that?” Keith asks. 

“Just like that,” Shiro says, like it’s that easy. 

Half an hour later, watching the sun set over the water above deck, Shiro draped along his side, warm and sure and _staying,_ Keith realizes... it just might be.


End file.
